


Cotton is Evil, Wool is Magic

by travelertime



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Camping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, backpacking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelertime/pseuds/travelertime
Summary: Members from four pre-professional volleyball teams are invited to camp on a protected wildlife reserve planet, Orgin, as a form of alternative training. They will grow in both teamwork and personal strength in this uninhibited, freeing environment that Coach Ukai calls "the opportunity of a lifetime."What could go wrong?





	Cotton is Evil, Wool is Magic

Yaku smooths out the map and squints at where he penciled an “x” to mark today’s campsite. “Three mountains off to the left?”

“Check.”

“A small stream coming down from them?”

“Check,” Kuroo reassures, “and that lake with an island is on our right. Relax, we made it.” The taller boy tugs a bandana off his head and runs fingers through the black birdsnest there, welcoming the cool wind to ease away the sweat and grime of the day’s hike.

Overhead, the sun still hovers safely over the horizon as the quartet unshoulders gear. The responsible two of the exhibition work to pitch tents, and their lazy counterparts crash on a mass of warm, flat rocks, using their packs as pillows. Kuroo and Yaku had tried on the first few evenings to convince the others to help, but to no avail; Lev has a bad habit of breaking stuff (thankfully Yaku fixed the tent fly the last episode, but it was a close call). And Kenma’s constant complaining and lethargic behavior when he didn’t want to expend energy grated so much on Kuroo’s nerves that he lets the boy just lounge around for a while. 

Usually, Kenma could be convinced to fish or monitor the campfire, both sedentary tasks he could do while also checking his phone. The portable solar panel charger that clips onto his backpack gives the device enough juice to run a for half an hour. When they camp high enough on a peak, it can even connect to the net if he’s lucky. Today, however, Kenma pulls his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes and drifts off to Lev’s endless shuffling, the _whoosh_ and _ziiipp_ of the nylon structures rising, the crunchy tamp of boots on wild lawn…

* * *

“Are you sure this area’s ok to be staying in?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Noya chuckles at Asahi’s concern.

They both take in the dense pine forest that surrounds the clearing, and not peace and quiet and lovely bird and frog calls, but _dumbass Hinata! ...Ow, Kageyama!!_ No matter where their group goes--a volleyball game, team dinner, and now apparently the middle of nowhere on Orgin--those two always find something to bicker about. Asahi adjusts his knees to sit cross-legged near the camp stove. The pasta boils happily but precariously on its metal tripod. “I just have this odd feeling, you know, like this place sees a lot of storms or moose, or even--”

“Is cheese, sausage, and allspice ok?”

“What?”

“For dinner. To add in.” 

“Sure, but--” Both boys look up at a new figure in the kitchen; Suga has returned from filling some water bottles. He sets to work purifying each nalgene with the Aquamira drops, but not before offering advice on the food:

“Curry and Tabasco sauce, please.”

Noya clutches the spice kit close, wrinkling his nose. Aside from basic camping gear, each person got to take along a miscellaneous item (within reasonable limits, of course). Some things, like Asahi’s bag with twenty different seasonings and Daichi’s frisbee, proved to actually be pretty useful. The frisbee, if you cleaned it enough and slightly lowered your expectations of cleanliness, turned into a nifty cutting board and mixing bowl. The spice kit, which in the right (Asahi’s) hands can invigorate even the most basic of dishes, has become an invaluable tool. A tool Suga tries to abuse every meal. He even claims that _chili powder in hot chocolate makes it taste better Noya, you gotta try it!_

The spice guardian does not have to think twice. “Absolutely not. It’s like you’re trying to burn off all our throat and stomach linings!” Asahi makes a noise of of agreement. 

But Suga is unperturbed. “That’s kind of the point.”

“What?!”

“I’ve got this cold I can't shake and I was hoping the spice could clear out my congestion and throat gunk.” Suga coughs, an impressive hacking, but Noya, Asahi (and now Daichi, who walks into the scene and sets a frisbee full of chopped summer sausage next to the stove) remember incidences in the past where Suga went to even greater lengths in pursuit of sympathy. 

While the two cooks start another stove for hot water, Daichi kicks away some loose gravel and sits beside Suga. Despite Suga’s “chronic cold,” he looks livelier than ever in a gold-plaid button-up and a quirky grin, hair floofing wonderfully about bright sun-kissed skin (perhaps a _little_ burnt on the nose). Daichi notices his own mouth tugging up at the corners trying to betray him, so he hides it with a chuckle and a playful press to Suga’s perfectly healthy-feeling forehead, and, “Nice try, but you can't get us this time or the next fifty.”

“Aw--” he gives it his all, batting eyelashes, pouting his lower lip and completely forgoing any “under the weather” acting-- “Please, Daichiiiiii?” 

Daichi prays to any god or woodland spirit to stop the stupid, stupid blush that he knows will overtake his entire face if Suga’s eyes keep toying with his own. In a last-ditch effort he arches an eyebrow and gives a face he hopes is one hundred percent exacerbated, zero percent smitten. 

Then Asahi, blessed Asahi like Jesus himself, shuffles in and reminds Suga that he can season his own food in his own bowl however he wants.

Suga’s shoulders fall, but he is still smiling. “It was worth a try. What I wouldn’t give to see our ‘Stoic Captain’ getting teary-eyed because he can’t handle a little spice in his life.” Daichi can think of quite a few things Suga could do to make him lose composure--both bad and very, very good--but he shoves them out of his mind now.

“There, there,” Daichi teases. “If it makes you feel any better, sometimes I want to cry when I smell your morning breath.” 

Noya, falling into inescapable giggling, slumps into Asahi’s side and almost kicks over both of the stoves. The pasta’s aroma, lacking in capsicum elements as it should, wafts through the glen while cousin Nearly Boiling Water crashes over. Asahi yells and rolls away with Noya in tow before Daichi even realizes what is happening. It’s like watching a tree fall, he thinks. You are so enamored in watching it dip slowly like a dancer in green tulle that you forget two tons of wood and scratchy branches is coming and you need to move right now!

Springing to his feet, Daichi scans over Asahi and Noya and zooms over to them. Not only does he want Noya to be ok, but it also would it be embarrassing to radio in that the mission is literally “in hot water” after just three days. However, before he can get close enough to see the damage, Noya speaks.

“Asahi,” he croaks out, “If I die, I want you to have…”

The boy still cradling him pales and peers closer. “What is it, Noya?”

“I want you to have this leaf.” Noya places an old leaf on Asahi’s outstretched hand. 

“...Why?”

“I dunno bro, it just looked cool!” Noya laughs. 

Asahi all but smothers Noya in a full-body hug. “Oh my gosh Noya, you know I worry a bit. Never do that again, please.”

“But you should’ve seen your face! ...Sorry Daichi” he apologizes to the captain’s livid glare. 

Daichi just shakes his head and slumps down. This is going to be a long trip if he doesn’t die of a heart attack first. He massages his forehead and listens to the two boys resetting the stove. It’s quiet in the clearing again; perhaps the first years are all resting in the tents, reading, napping, doing anything to avoid the mosquitos. 

There’s a cough to his right, and Daichi sees Suga trying to catch his eye. He could ignore it, but he knows Suga is annoyingly persistent. Best to get this over with 

“What?”

“Humph.”

“What is it now?”

“I have a cold,” he announces.

“I’m so sorry,” Daichi sarcastically pats him on the back, “I was a bit distracted watching Noya’s near-death experience that I forgot about your fake cold.” He really can’t help himself as it turns into more of a shoulder rub, a single-handed one that Suga just barely leans into 

Just as Daichi’s contemplating adding another hand, Suga stands up and addresses the whole clearing: “If nobody cares about my health, I’m LEAVING!” He then actually sets off for the woods. 

Daichi calls after him tiredly, “Wait, Suga,” and when there’s no reply, “Suga, where are you going?!” a little bit more panicked.

In the distance he picks up “I’m kidding, I just have to pee!” and glimpses its announcer disappearing off into the foliage.

When Daichi had asked the board about opportunities for a team outing, he hadn’t expected it to be quite like this. This adventure out of the blue, _literally out of this world_ \--He’d gaped like a fish when Ukai casually recommended shuttling out to this preserve planet, that the Karasuno boy’s volleyball team had grabbed the attention of a unique government project to catalogue environment development. Or something. Daichi and the team stayed high on the wave of euphoria and nerves in the training sessions, though he suspected Tsukishima and Yamaguchi peered behind the scenes more than the rest. In short, Daichi knew that Karasuno and four other schools had sent out groups to camp on the planet Orgin, radio back to HQ every other day, meet up and collaborate with the other teams, and ultimately arrive at the Frank River delta. 

Now, they have just crossed over the threshold of this adventure. Right here, it’s a homely (as close to home as one light year can) as everything takes on twilight dye. Somebody gives Daichi another headache: “Why are you getting so close to his face, hmmm?”

“You know we share a tent, Noya.” 

Asahi just has to add,“We also know you have a massive crush on him.”

“You should make a move. How romantic, on a camping trip, you to pathfinding together, watching the constellations, and,” Noya waggles his eyebrows, “cuddling up all cozy on the cold nights, veryyy cosy if you’re getting my drift--”

“Even Hinata could understand this.” For once, Daichi appreciates Tsukishima’s snarkiness, and the way he appears out of thin air with his sidekick, ready to lower the self-esteem of anyone.

Yamaguchi accepts a bowl of perfectly-spiced pasta. “Ohh, it smells good.” 

Soon, the murmuring of content conversation lures the rest of the camp, even Suga. They eat, with sporks and tea. Hinata, Tanaka, and Noya have enthusiastically but precariously prepared a bonfire, and everyone winds down there to the last dregs and specks of cheese. 

Kageyama asks, “Tanaka, how can you stand to be shirtless when mosquitos exist?” 

“Gwaaaa! That’s like a superpower!” Hinata adds.

“Heh, you mean a super stupid power.”

“Nice one, Tsuki.”

The heart of coals reddens and dwindles down as Karasuno yawns, brushes teeth, sneaks a snack from rations, or just stays and contemplates the enormity of the situation they’re in. Daichi breaths out the tension as he puts out the fire with his boot and kicks of dirt. It’s such a relief to have the camp all set up hours before it got dark, so there was plenty of time to cook, nap, swim, and really enjoy backpacking. He wonders if the other groups are having a similarly rewarding experience. 

* * *  
Bluish light spotlights light drizzle, a half-assembled tent, and Iwaizumi’s murderous glower. 

“Shine that headlamp in my face one more time and so help me, you’ll sleep outside tonight.”

“Ha, you would never,” Oikawa snickers, but shifts his angle lower and sets to work tying in the last spike. He can’t tell if the if the dampness of his skin comes from the mist, sweat, or dirt, but it doesn't really matter. Nothing matters except getting dry and falling asleep hopefully forever. “Iwa-chan, can you be any slower?” he huffs; now that they're not marching at a breakneck pace through the dark, he has attention to spare his numbing fingers.

“Well, if _somebody_ didn’t miss the exit shuttle and delay us a week, or actually paid attention to the basic camping seminar,” grunts Iwaizumi, pulling a tarp taut, “we wouldn’t be in this situation. We wouldn't be trying to cover three days of travel on our first.”

The downpour accelerates. “Touché,” A chill starting to tingle on his neck, Oikawa drags up both of their backpacks: “I’m going in.”

“No shoes in the tent.”

He wrenches down the zipper, rolling his eyes. “Now’s not the time to be a neat freak.”

“We’re staying in this tent for weeks, so keep it clean!” Iwaizumi hollers back. “Leave boots and packs under the outside fly and just take in your sleeping bag and clothes, and maybe some food.” The wind picks up now, and he swears and rushes off to grab some rocks to hold down the tent. Oikawa quickly finds dry base layers and stuff for the two of them, and even some banana chips, but not--

With some choice swears, Oikawa laments that he forgot to back a sleeping bag, but he’s too exhausted to dwell on it. Wet socks, pants, and a shirt get tossed into the corner, and the headlamp swings from the ceiling. Deliciously dry wool-blend makes him want to fall asleep right then and there, but before he can steal the sole sleeping bag, the door unfurls and a mud-streaked Iwaizumi plops inside. Oikawa smiles sheepishly. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t even change his expression, but a tinge of desperation seeps through. “No…”

Oikawa shrugs and pushes over a clean change of clothes with his bare foot.

“Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi takes in the plummeting temperature and rainfall that sounds like someone’s slapping the tent, “I cannot believe you.” He spikes the sleeping bag at Oikawa’s head, and feels a little better when the boy squawks and tries to dodge it. “Just push the sleeping pads together and unzip the bag completely so we can share it.”

“That’s one way to get in bed with me.”

Iwaizumi places his jacket in the corner opposite Oikawa’s clothes. “It’s also one way to not die of hypothermia.”

“Ohh, what a mood-ruiner.” He arranges the foam mattresses, crawls under the improvised quilt, and nibbles a well-deserved midnight snack. The fruit tastes better if you let it sit in your mouth: natural and artificial tangs gradually melting to a subdued sweetness. Perhaps the crunch of a quick handful is more satisfying. Or, take the best of both words and nibble off the edge of the dried yellow disc, savoring both the prowess of destruction and the profits of patience.

The sleeping bag shuffles off to his left, a hand reaches for the chips, and Oikawa snags a couple before letting his friend have the rest. Iwaizumi munches away and yawns a little, rolling out his wrists, shoulders, back, neck, going through a mental checklist of major body joints. He even reaches to touch his toes under the warm fabric, quite a commendable stretch for such a muscular person, Oikawa observes jealously. A few more bites, Iwaizumi switches off the light and snuggles under the cover, facing away. Another headlamp burns over on Oikawa’s side, muffled by discarded layers and casting angular shadows on the fabric wall.

The late time sheaths everything in tints of cold blue, offset only by that splash of yellow in the corner. Some seconds of silence reign, then: “Let me have some more blanket.”

“Come closer, I don’t bite,” Oikawa says. Iwaizumi obliges, marginally, edging backyards half of half of an inch. 

They lay still for a minute or so, but the forgetful boy can feel the cold air tickling his exposed ankle, and there's no room to cover it without getting creative. Egged on by the darkness, Oikawa does as Oikawa does. He positions the back of his right hand on top of a grin, curls his fingers like talons, and leans forward with utmost stealth. _“Nom, nom!”_ he fake-whispers, pretending to gnaw the shoulder before him.

It works--With a sharp gasp Iwaizumi recoils, head whipping around, eyes wide as saucers, an elbow narrowly missing Oikawa’s ribs. He's pretty cute, how he reacts so much to such a small sensation.

“Are those your _teeth?_ What, why the fuc--” And all of a sudden, it’s one of _those_ times in life where you catch up to yourself; Oikawa inhales the bizarreness of everything, how he and Iwaizumi used to build pillow forts to hide from thunderstorms, and here they are now. It’s different because his back feels the bumps in the ground and he can smell the rain, but it’s the same when he hears the little tremble in his friend’s voice, realizes the gentler movements, lack of resistance to Oikawa’s suggestions previously.

It’s one of those times in life where reality bleeds into whatever you see with your eyes closed, or when you're high on laughing gas and sense the world turning without you. Oikawa’s addicted to pushing boundaries, and he cannot resist the inflammability of this instant. 

* * *  
“Akaaashghjii!” and a small crash.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome to my first Haikyuu fic.   
> More tags to follow with each chapter, obvs.   
> I love Haikyuu and outdoor stuff, so that's how this gangly brainchild came about. Constructive criticism always appreciated.


End file.
